


the best cure

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Daisy loves Coulson A LOT, Established Relationship, F/M, Female Gaze, Fluff, Future Fic, Hangover, Minor Alphonso "Mack" Mackenzie/Yo Yo Rodriguez, Morning Sex, POV Skye | Daisy Johnson, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, because he makes her feel loved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 05:58:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7965175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daisy has a terrible hangover. Coulson is still a bit drunk. They have a great idea to make everything better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the best cure

She watches him struggle with the sheets and get out of bed and stumble across the room and she thinks _what the hell?_

“What the hell are you doing?” she asks, feeling and hearing her own voice so hoarse it shocks her.

Coulson turns around. He’s completely naked.

“You said the light was hurting your eyes. I was just...”

Yes, she did say that, but that was like ten seconds ago.

She smiles at him. 

“Hey. Nice view.”

Coulson looks towards the window, then back at her, confused, with a little frown on his brow even though Daisy is very pointedly staring at his groin.

“You’re still drunk,” Daisy tells him. “Come back to bed.”

“But the - the light,” he insists. “You said-”

“I’ll endure.”

He climbs into bed, with some difficulty, and Daisy gets a flashback of last night, both of them being so drunk and so stubborn about undressing that it was quite the triumph that they managed to make it under the covers and naked. She doesn’t remember falling asleep but she regrets having woken up.

Coulson very carefully half-closes his eyes as he slides his body besides her and Daisy feels like they haven’t done this in way too long.

“Do I look as bad as I feel?” he asks, massaging his temples.

Well, he’s looked hotter, she has to admit. Though probably the same is true of her. She feels like her whole body is covered in a film of ugly, dry sweat.

“You look as bad as _I_ feel.”

Coulson brings his hand to her shoulder, caressing its curve.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“It’s not your fault, you didn’t force me to drink all those drinks.”

As a rule Daisy hates getting drunk, tries to avoid it. It probably means something that she felt safe enough around this group of people last night and allowed herself to lose a bit of control in front of them. Plus Simmons kept pushing mezcal shots in front of him and Coulson. 

There had just been so much work lately and she was under so much stress - in a way things were easier for her when she was alone and acting as some kind of Inhuman vigilante - and things had gotten a bit out of hand.

“Elena had the right idea getting hotel rooms for everybody,” Coulson comments.

“Yeah, it wouldn’t do. A bunch of government employees staggering around town trying to find their secret base.” A thought occurs to her, thinking about last night’s party, how YoYo said it was for the team to loosen up, but was very insistent about the details and had booked the restaurant herself and kept fidgeting, nervous, the whole time . “Coulson… was that a secret engagement party? Last night.”

“I think it was. Very secret. They didn’t tell us, but it was.”

“I’m going to kill Mack.”

Secretly she is grateful and was grateful the whole night. Even though she (with Coulson) had been the one to protest YoYo’s idea the most - Mack did not back them at all, the traitor, and May and Simmons quickly agreed excitedly - arguing that they didn’t have time to get away from the base a whole night, and that now was the worst possible to take a break for a party. _Precisamente_ YoYo had simply said, locking her arm with Daisy’s and dragging them all out of the door with barely time to delegate responsibilities.

But in the end she had had fun - well, _obviously_ , considering the throbbing pain in her temple and the dryness in her tongue.

And the “spend the whole night out of the base” had presented a surprising solution to a _pressing_ problem your friendly Inhuman had been having.

Daisy widens her eyes at Coulson.

“Hey, I remember now,” she says. “We were supposed to… mmm-uh… last night.”

“You mean have sex?” Coulson corrects her, a bit sternly. He likes it when people talk like adults. Daisy likes it too, she’s not sure why she’s suddenly gone shy, it’s not like they haven’t been having sex for a couple of months now.

“Yes, we were supposed to have sex last night, you said-”

Her words are cut by a chuckle.

“You really don’t remember?”

She thinks she is about to - she keeps getting flashes, but without context. She remembers she was quite excited about the whole evening, about the impromptu party giving them an excuse to be together after the job had kept them apart so often lately. She gets a flash of them being absolutely juvenile under the dinner table, for starters. 

“We _tried_ to have sex,” Coulson tells her. “We were too drunk. Believe me, we tried.”

“What happened?”

“A problem with the… aim.”

Daisy makes a scrunchy face, livid.

“Oh, come on, Coulson.”

“Hey, it wasn’t _me_ the one with the aim problem.”

Daisy puts her hands over her mouth, _oh god_ , the details of their failure coming back to her in embarrassing flashes. Her loud and proud (and somewhat dramatic, like she had invented the concept) declaration that they were going to have a 69. She remembers - and really wishes she didn’t - taking Coulson’s dick in her hand and telling it to stop moving. _Oh God_ and her head aches and she should probably never ever attempt to have sex in her life.

Coulson laughs at her horror - which, apart from his drunken giggling last night (she remembers now, she remembers commenting on it, _you giggle_ , like an incredible discovery) Daisy doesn’t think she’s heard before. Open laughter, she means, not the tiny noise he makes when she tickles him (he’s ticklish, another recent discovery). But she’s angry it has to come at her expense.

She is about to protest and warn him not to laugh at her.

Instead a hiccup comes out of her mouth.

That only intensifies Coulson’s amusement. Something about his laughter confirms he still has some alcohol in his bloodstream.

Daisy stands up on her knees on the mattress, so offended.

“Hey, don’t you laugh at me,” she warns, pointing her finger at him like a schoolmaster.

Coulson takes her hand in his and kisses the heel of it, surprising a delighted squeal out of Daisy.

“You’re sweet,” she says.

It still surprises her, that Coulson is this sweet, or so unselfconscious about it when they are together. Not that Daisy has much experience - she’s only had a couple of serious romances before. Miles would do romantic gestures, but they were loud, clichéd. With Coulson she feels like he doesn’t think twice about it. He’s a romantic dude, and it’s contagious.

He grabs her waist and pulls her down to the mattress and Daisy makes a silly, delightful noise as she goes down.

“Good morning,” he says, when their eyes meet.

She realizes she can still mentally count the number of times they have been able to say good morning to each other like this. It’s still so new, and she is still often gripped by this fear it won’t last and wishes they were already two years into a relationship, fully knowing she is who she is and that still wouldn’t quieten the fear of losing him.

“Good morning,” she replies, wrapping her fingers around, wishing she was into many good-mornings in their relationship because at least that would mean they had a lot of time. She never knows how much time they have.

She kisses his hand, mirroring his gesture. It still surprises her how cold his right hand gets during the night, but all the more excuse to rub his arm and caress him. Coulson gives her a glassy-eyed, lazy grin.

“You know… I read somewhere that sex is the best cure for hangover.”

“Interesting…” he says, putting his weight on her. “We should probably test how true that is.”

“For scientific reasons.”

“Agent Johnson… are you using a line to get me to bed?”

“That’s a preposterous accusation, Agent Coulson. Why would I want to do something like that?”

They kiss for a while, deeply, and kind of disgustingly - they still taste like alcohol, and mixed with the morning breath, it’s far from sexy. But they don’t care right now. They are still a bit drunk, or at least Coulson is. He kisses her and starts making his kisses shorter until he is dropping light pecks on her lips and lifting his head to look at her.

She feels the joke ebb away as he stares at her. They are very bad at not turning everything between them into a deeply serious question. 

Now Coulson is looking at her all serious and little sigh escapes his lips.

“You promised we’d be together in this trip,” Daisy tells him. “And you always keep your promises to me.”

“Not always but… I try,” he says. “I’ll try.”

He gives her another quick peck before climbing off her and sliding down the bed, taking her leg in his hand and sliding it over his shoulder.

“Where are you going?” she asks, still sounding half drunk to herself. “For the hangover cure to work we _both_ have to have sex.”

Coulson kisses her knee.

“I’m afraid alcohol works on a body like mine a little bit differently.”

Daisy pouts. He probably doesn’t believe her but she really doesn’t mind. It has its bad things and it’s good things, him being old (old-er? old-ish?), like everything. It’s not like she has such a great track record with guys her age, quite the opposite. 

She runs her fingers through his hair.

“I’m sure I can help with that.”

She has always looked silly (at least to herself) when she is trying to be sexy. With Coulson it bothers her less.

“ _This_ will help with that…” he says, voice lowered and alluring, kissing between her legs.

It feels like listening to really slow and sultry music, and it makes Daisy smile immediately, the feeling of his tongue inside her, the stubble scratching the inside of her thighs, it makes her feel all hot in a good non-hangover way.

Coulson grabs her legs and pulls her down the bad a bit, for better access, and her head falls from the pillow to the mattress - unfortunately, because for a moment a hundred needles seem to attempt an attack on the inside of her skull.

“Hey,” she protests, Coulson lifts his head and looks. He is obviously more still-drunk and she is obviously more already-hangover and she can’t help wondering if it’s Inhuman or personal biology, because they shared every glass of drink equally last night, they shared everything. “Don’t make me move.”

His lips curl. “I can’t promise you _that_.”

“Ugh, and don’t speak.”

He doesn’t crack a joke at that, he obeys and shuts up and goes back to what he was doing. Daisy takes the pillow in her hands and puts it over her face, trying to block the light, and muffling all sounds - except her own.

Coulson takes his time and it feels like a luxury, with the kind of lives they lead, with who they are, and that’s part of the excitement, Daisy feels aroused by the idea of Coulson and her stealing time for themselves, even though she knows eventually - but not for, mmm, at least one more hour _please_ \- the world will have priority.

She comes, sweet and honey-like, as if wrapped in one of those jazz songs Coulson likes.

He strokes her through the aftershocks, making sure she keeps wet before positioning himself and sliding easily against her body.

“No problems with aiming now,” Daisy says, making him laugh.

It’s such a rare joy, hearing Phil laugh again (and even though he is still Coulson most of the time, she has decided he will always be Phil when he laughs), so it provokes a special kind of pride when she gets it out of him.

“No, not now,” he replies.

And that’s it, after the many interruptions of work and fighting for their lives and getting stupid drunk at a party they are finally having sex. It’s a relief, not just in the sense that she has missed him, their still-budding intimacy, but in the sense that Daisy needs to know she’s wanted.

“See? You’ve kept your promise,” she says.

Coulson smiles at her, struggling not to get distracted, and keeps rocking his body, gently, limbs hangover heavy and softened, against her body.

“And I was right to make you keep it,” she says, words throaty. She doesn’t know if it’s the heaviness of the drink and the exhaustion but she sounds wonderfully aroused to herself -and she feels it too, a second orgasm building up without her even having to will it. Not to sound like a sex maniac, but a whole week without being together was driving her up the walls.

“Yeah?” Coulson says, challenging, and he does sexy a little bit better than her.

“Yeah. This is good.”

“Yes, we’re good.”

He grabs her leg and pushes it against her chest, dropping his head so he can touch his mouth to hers every time he thrusts into her. His rhythm is a bit more sloppy than what he did with his tongue but Daisy likes that she can see his eyes. She likes that he can talk to her through it.

“You’re so-”

“What, Phil? Tell me.”

“I need you so much.”

Daisy smirks to herself, scraping her nails across his neck, the polish starting to chip after how nice and perfect she managed to make them look for the party.

There’s always a moment during sex when Coulson loses his cool and starts showering with both dirty and sentimental declarations - making Daisy feel more wanted than ever. He’s the greatest guy she’s ever met, what can be better than hearing he needs her?

“I need you too,” she tells him, clenching her legs around his waist, and grabbing Coulson’s ass to push him even deeper. She comes just a second after he does, perhaps prompted by the exhausted, happy sound he makes or how he lets his head fall on her shoulder or how messy and warm the whole thing feels.

It takes them a bit recover from the effort alone, afterwards, breathing loudly while staying very still, shoulder to shoulder, on the bed, thoughts of the world and their responsibilities already pressing at them.

“So was it true? Is sex the best cure for hangover?” Coulson asks, eventually.

At least the light doesn’t seem to hurt her eyes quite as much.

“I think I feel better,” she admits. “But I think we probably require further trials.”

Coulson throws one arm across her chest, pulling her shamelessly against him and pressing his mouth against her cheek.

“I guess we owe it to science…” he jokes.

No, Daisy thinks, turning her head and catching Coulson’s lips, kissing Phil’s laughter when she slides her body over his again. We owe it to ourselves.


End file.
